Falling Apart
by Mini Peacelet
Summary: Connie Beauchamp one shot. Based on current storylines on the show and some possible upcoming ones (from clips).


_**A/N: **Just a little one shot based around Connie with ideas of what is currently happening on the show/the latest clips. Hope you like it, I'd love to know what you think :)_

_~Mini Peacelet~_

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><p>Falling Apart<p>

It was her fault. Hers. Connie Beauchamp. She had to accept the responsibility and blame. Because, at the end of the day, that was the truth. The agonising truth. She could lie to herself, pass the accountability. But it didn't budge nor conceal the guilt one little bit.

Lily's error could have been liable; she was reading the map. Or was it Ethan's - he was driving, ultimately he was the one in control of the vehicle. Perhaps it was Ash's; Jeff died saving him and that was who Dixie accused. She could repeatedly propel the blame from person to be person just to make herself feel better temporarily, yet she always relapsed to the verity. It was her fault. Initially, she was the one who organised the visit to another hospital, compelling them to learn and improve to be more proficient. She only coveted for the best.

The clinical lead continually convinced herself that her department was still functioning fully, her staff were coping efficiently. The counselling and additional resources that had been offered - and she declined - by Guy, and prompted to consent by Charlie, she had believed and dismissed to be a waste of time and capital. She couldn't even identify that there was an issue.

The brunette wasn't a compassionate type of individual, pathetic at providing and displaying the comfort her staff were silently in desperate demand off. An ice queen the lacked expressions of emotions; cold and, at times, callous. Personal feelings were to remain private and absent, despising them interfering with work. Maybe there were reasons for her emotionless attitude.

The ED doctors and nurses looked up to her for support and consolation, Connie was the heart of team - or at least should have been - and it was her duty to ensure that the required connections and links that maintained the team's regimentation and operating was strong and preserved. But she couldn't do that. She didn't have that bond. She wasn't involved with them. Not like Zoe Hanna. Zoe was the person they desired for to aid this situation. Her team were falling apart. And internally, so was she.

Connie turned to other methods to assist her in visibly coping. Unprofessional devices. She had only been hired because of her ability to instate uniformity and efficiency into the chaotic emergency department. It certainly wasn't because of her empathy. She was a superior and well respected doctor that didn't get emotionally entangled. The thought of her team thinking that she was weak and some what sensitive loathed. Oddly, she preferred the icy and hostile ambience that was generated between her and her staff; a clear cut between who was in charge and who was not. She believed that was the way it should have been, the complete contrast to Dr Hanna who's systems had proved unsuccessful.

With her lead, things had improved and targets were actually being met. The former heart surgeon didn't intend to stop there either, aspiring to enhance and better things further. Ethan's diagnostic time had been cut in half. Under performing staff had been erased. She had intervened with those getting too involved and attached to their patients troubles. She had accomplished exactly what was expected of her.

Guy had noticed she was struggling, so had Charlie, which had left her with no other choice but to go against her wishes and contact Zoe. She could tackle paperwork and prevent it from piling. She could run this ED. She could treat patients with even the most complex and severe injuries. But she needed Zoe Hanna's help to keep the team together. Perhaps it was a muted appeal for help for her as well. Not that she would ever admit it.

Now difficulties with her daughter were escalating, something else she wasn't prepared for because she had never anticipated it. Grace, aged nine, had managed to get herself expelled from her boarding school in Dorset. How? Connie was still yet to properly decipher that detail, having little time to chat when she had arrived to collect her daughter and had to dash back to Holby. Placing Grace in boarding school had been the most logical option for the hectic doctor. Her career was demanding, especially for a single mother, and she couldn't give Grace the time and attention she deserved.

Standing in the restroom, she stared dismally at her blank reflection. Everything was starting to show. Connie was crumpling under the pressure. It was perceptible to specific members of staff, those wise enough to see through their boss's durable act and also be knowledgeable of the petite indications. She knew herself but elected to disregard it, masking it bluntly. Although she was becoming increasingly feeble and vulnerable. Close to exposure.

The brunette tucked a stray lock of curly hair behind her ear neatly, tugging the creases out of her crisp, white blouse, and inhaled deep and lengthy breaths to obtain composure. She was clinical lead. This was not professional. Jerking forward with a start upon perceiving someone enter, she pretended to be washing her hands. In the mirror's replication, she learned that it was Zoe. _Just who she wanted to see - laced sarcasm._ She had purposely been tactfully evading her since her arrival.

"I've been looking for you." Zoe spoke subtly, ambling towards the sink so she was able to observe Connie's face, "You didn't call me back for the team, did you? You called me back for you." She stated sincerely.

Connie rotated her head, glaring unappreciatively at the shorter woman, features refined by a humourless and austere expression, "What? No, of course not. Don't be ridiculous." She retorted with a scoff. She pirouetted sharply in her heels and strutted out, returning to her office briefly to collect her handbag before departing to her car.

Drink. She had chosen alcohol as an aid to coping with her rough spell. When alone, her emotions were finally able to escape the bottle of her body they were confined to for the majority of the time. _Trapped_. Alcohol numbed the turmoil twister of sentiments; misery, regret, guilt, anger, perplexity. She clasped her perfectly manicured fingers around the crystal wine glass, necking the contents as though it was water. It was costly wine, containing a high alcohol percentage. She would have been surprised if she got more involved with fellow doctors and nurses, the ability to relate to problems she had encountered herself was priceless.

The sophisticated surgeon was breaking. It was too complex to confess that she needed help, a loss of pride and dignity. Though really there was no shame. She held herself responsible for everything; problems and tragedy. She was gradually falling apart.


End file.
